In the media spotlight, a Houston woman reflects

Unless you have been at the bottom of a well for the past week, you've heard of Sarah Slamen.

She is the 28-year-old whose fiery impromptu testimony before the State Senate Health and Human Services Committee - it memorably reached its peak at "Thank you for being you, Texas Legislature" - somehow earned her the unique honor of being dragged out of the chamber. That highly public ejection ranks in legislative media savvy right up there with the confiscation of the weaponized tampons.

Wherever you stand on abortion, you have to admire her guts.

Sarah Slamen went viral. Since last Monday, she's been in the vortex of a media Shark­nado. As I type this, she is on my office TV.

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Lifestyle

"I never expected anything like it," Sarah said when I met her for coffee Sunday. "I was fully unprepared for the national reaction." But she is also forceful with me: "Don't make this about the attention I'm getting."

Sarah had planned to testify about Gov. Rick Perry's sister's role as a lobbyist for surgical centers and doctor-owned hospitals, which would mean she might profit from passage of the bill.

But as the long day wore on she decided to speak about the qualifications - or lack thereof - of the committee members to rule on an issue central to women's lives. She pointed out that Sen. Donna Campbell was an ophthalmologist, not an expert on reproduction, and was starting to call out other members as well. Just then the committee chair, Sen. Jane Nelson, told Sarah she was being disrespectful. That was not going to work on Sarah. "Excuse me, this is my government, ma'am. I will judge you," she said. And that's when she was dragged out.

Sarah knew what she was doing, though she admits she was scared when she was hauled out. She was trying to break through Sen. Nelson's polite exterior. "I wanted her to reveal herself," she says. "That's how you organize - you agitate 'em."

Not first public moment

Sarah grew up in the Houston area; she's a graduate of Elkins High School, and she has a bachelor's in political science from the University of Houston. "I actively avoided law school," she says.

She's OK with being called a grass-roots activist, but she has also been a manager, an organizer, a hostess and a pro-bono lobbyist. The dragging-out incident wasn't even Sarah's first memorable public moment at the Legislature. At a hearing on June 20, after calling out the legislators for their hypocritical anti-abortion, pro-death-penalty stances and their embracing of policies that work against women and children, she said "Shame on you, Byron Cook" to the House State Affairs committee chairman. He liked that about as much as you'd expect.

Earlier in the session, she worked to abolish the death penalty. She has also worked on issues of homelessness, women's rights and wage theft. She has campaigned for two Democratic candidates, though she no longer identifies with the party.

Sarah learned her forthrightness at home. She was taught that a uniform or a title did not demand blind respect. "Questioning authority was not a crime in our house," she explains.

Her late father was a conservative Libertarian and her mother a liberal Democrat. On Sunday mornings, they would watch "Meet the Press" and argue over the issues. "Politics was not out of bounds," Sarah says. "Disagreeing with those you love was not out of bounds."

Speech extemporaneous

When Sarah was little, before her mother went back to work, the two of them watched C-SPAN, not soap operas.

That home atmosphere and the skills she learned in high school English and debate classes (her teacher, Bonnie Bonnette, is one of her heroes) gave her the tools to speak at the Legislature last Monday. Remember, she became so incensed as the hearing played out that she threw out her prepared remarks. That's why it kills her that media figures have been asking her to "finish" her speech. "It doesn't exist!" she says. "There's no grand opus. I was composing on my phone."

But those very studies - speech, debating, Constitutional law - that taught her to become poised and articulate have suffered cutbacks in the schools. "Sadly, kids don't have as much access to those programs."

Remember that Sarah Slamen calls herself neither a Republican nor a Democrat. Her evaluation of Democrats drips with contempt. "All they've done is lose," she says. "If the minority party in Austin wants to change things sooner rather than later, they need to get out of Austin and find out that the rest of Texas looks more like Houston," she says. "They need to reach out to the working poor, the oil workers." She pauses. "It's a long game."

There's a chance Sarah won't be in Texas much longer. Her boyfriend is from New York, and they may move there. "I believe in God, and a man was put in my path who is from New York City," she explains. "It's not a slur against Texas." Still, it would be a kind of relief to work on a different set of issues.

But after this past week, for reasons both public and personal, a move is a little less likely. People are asking her to stay.

Texans on our own

In 10 years, where will she be? "In 10 years I want to be healthy and sober," she says, after a few seconds. "I don't know. I live in the moment. But if you've got those two things, you can make it work."

Sarah understands that her moment is just that: a moment. "Civilization will forget about Texas in a week," she says. "It's going to be us fighting for Texas ultimately."